


Fortune Favors the Bold

by MerryMandolin



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Coming of Age, Dark Magic, Developing Friendships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Issues, Gen, Homophobia, Mystery, Past Sexual Abuse, Possible Character Death, Spirits, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 23:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryMandolin/pseuds/MerryMandolin
Summary: All things considered, Bakura's only real talent was employing the appearance of innocence. Still, he almost always ruined the effect by opening his mouth. (Yu-Gi-Oh: Last Airbender AU)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to forbiddenseason for giving me the idea to write this.  
> (It was quite a long time ago, but I still give thanks where they're due.)
> 
> This story is set in pre-war Last Airbender-verse, before Aang is trapped in the ice, and contains no major characters from A:TLA.

Bakura had the curious tendency to forget that his actions had consequences. This oft-belated realization was offset only by his ability to pretend otherwise.

Jian was a pleasant enough place, he supposed. It was squeezed in between a river and a mountain, the latter cleaving the town nearly in half as it skirted the water's edge and wrapped around the rocky cliff side. On a map, the little port town was nestled cozily on a trade route from Ba Sing Se to the Northern Water Tribe, making it a hotbed for commerce, especially of the non-legal variety.

Bakura liked to think that he had lingered on Jian's shores of his own volition, and that the dirty, cramped rows of huts and their putrid-smelling inhabitants were merely contacts that he was using for information, rather than his indefinite neighbors. He liked to think that he wore a ratty tunic and kept his white hair dirty because he didn't want to draw attention, instead of the truth: his clothes had been stolen on his first day there, and he was too afraid to bathe in the river. Perhaps the saddest fact of them all was that, among the locals, Bakura fit in perfectly.

The only part of Jian that wasn't rundown and degenerate was the Guǎngchǎng, an enormous plaza dedicated to merchants and travelers, and his current destination. He attempted to make his way down the crowded street; however, Bakura, being small and attired poorly, was being tossed around the empty spaces between people. Growing tired of being jostled here and there, he finally escaped the rushing crowd, finding his ground in a narrow alleyway. Taking a deep breath, he rested his forehead on the wall, eyes closed. All part of the plan, he lied to himself.

The plaza was awash with people coming for some annual celebration. Bakura had heard it being talked about for two weeks, but had had little understanding of what the festivities entailed. Apparently, it involved the already cramped Jian being flooded with entertainers, artists, farmers, miners, herbalists, finery merchants, treasure hunters, and- Was that an armadillo fox? Bakura craned his neck, trying to get a good look at the large caravan trundling down the street filled with animals.

Under normal circumstances, Bakura might have found cause to enjoy himself. The scale of the festival was exciting; the entire city transforming in preparation for the event. He'd never witnessed anything of this calibre growing up in the upper ring of Ba Sing Se.

There was one tiny snag which dampened his enthusiasm to basically nothing: he had no money.

A stack of crates was piled beside him in the alley, and he tested the one closest to him for strength. They seemed stable enough to hold his weight; so, he carefully climbed up to a moderate height, clinging close to the wood as he peered over the heads in the crowd. There had to be someone... If luck could be on his side just this once, he might be able to finally get out of this sorry town.

Bakura blew a puff of air upward, upsetting the sweaty tufts of his white hair resting atop his eyebrows. Just one target, just one heist. It would be easy, he told himself. All he needed was to choose his victim, and the fool wouldn't know what hit them.

There— Bakura's eyes sharpened and focused on a boy, roughly his same age. A sunburned nose and a displeased grimace pulling at the corners of his mouth, the boy was thin and gangly, dressed head to toe in blue and white. Water Tribe, eh? Didn't usually see many of those around, since their kind tended to keep to themselves. He certainly appeared and acted foreign; where most Earth kingdom inhabitants were stocky, grounded, stubborn, this boy weaved through the bodies around him with careful precision. He was carrying a small crate filled with shining trinkets. Bakura surveyed him, trying to figure out where he was going.

"Hey! Get off!"

The shout to his right startled him, and he jerked, scrambling back off the crates. One of the merchants was glaring at him. " _Shoo!_ "

Bakura sauntered deeper into the alley, his expression sour but his mind deep in thought. He only needed a little money to get passage elsewhere; if the Water Tribe boy was gullible, maybe he could snatch something and make off with it. Worth a shot, at least.

Still, he would have to find the boy all over again, and somehow survive the crowd. Then, it seemed that luck truly had graced him, since, as he exited the other end of the alley, he collided directly with the boy he'd been watching earlier.

The corner of the crate the boy was holding dug painfully into his clavicle as the boy literally shouldered him out of the way, pushing Bakura to the ground and continuing on as if nothing had occurred. Angry, he nearly shouted his displeasure, but held his tongue.

Dusting himself off, he stared at the boy's back, calculating. Then, without thinking, he followed after, his eyes trained on his target.

He hadn't gone far. Soon enough, the boy stopped at a stall where various pieces of jewelry could be seen on display, and began chatting with another man who was tending the shop. As Bakura crept closer, he caught portions of their conversation.

"... think this is the last one," the boy was saying. His voice was higher pitched and he possessed a strange accent Bakura was unfamiliar with.

The other man, a much larger, burly sort replied. "You didn't have to-" A loud bark of laughter sounded off to Bakura's left, and he inched ever closer to the duo, straining his ears. "... find another method, Marik."

"Don't worry about it," the boy, Marik presumably, said.

"Might I take my leave? This would be a good time to restock our provisions."

Marik waved the other man away. "I'm alright here; go."

The larger man offered Marik a little bow before walking off. From this closer vantage point, Bakura got a more proper look at the boy. Blonde hair coupled with a darker skin tone make him look exotic among the fair-skinned, dark-haired Earth Kingdom inhabitants. He was wearing a vest, fur-lined and embroidered to look like frost. Not quite fitting for the current warm season, the fabric was haphazardly rolled over his abdomen, bunched up as if it were going against its natural function. His legs were completely wrapped around with thick navy cloth, smatterings of dirt and mud marring the otherwise immaculate attire. Still, Marik was adorned with quite a lot of jewelry himself: armlets, bracelets, earrings, and a choker, all of a bright and polished silver, which made sense considering what he was selling.

When he felt it was safe to approach (namely, when the larger man was well out of sight), Bakura straightened from his crouched position, sauntering up to the stall. "Oh! Hello! I remember you!" he chirped to the boy, as if he had only just noticed his presence. "Sorry about that, back there; didn't mean to bump into you."

"It's fine," was Marik's curt response. He didn't even look up.

Bakura slid a smile onto his face, reaching out and pilfering small trinkets every time the other boy turned his back. "Could I make it up to you somehow? Do you need help with anything?"

Marik was setting out necklaces from the crate he'd been carrying, laying them carefully on the wood. "No."

"Are you sure? I won't be any trouble."

"I can manage on my own."

"It's quite hot out; I'd be happy to fetch you some wa-"

Marik slammed a bracelet down with such force that Bakura flinched. "What's your name?"

"Ryou," Bakura lied, stealing his brother's name effortlessly.

"Okay, Ryou," Marik echoed with mocking politeness, leaning casually against the side of his stall. "Get lost."

He couldn't help the puzzled frown that overtook his face. "Excuse me?"

"You look a little young to be hard of hearing."

"I- I am not!" Bakura spluttered, offended.

"Good," the other boy remarked with a smug little smirk. "Then you know what to do."

What was this kid's problem? He was really starting to get on Bakura's nerves. "Are all people from the Tribes this uncivilized?" was his snide retort.

Marik's gaze snapped to Bakura in an instant, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "What did you just say to me?"

"I suppose you're having trouble with your ears too?" Bakura shot back.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved, sharing mutual glares while the rest of the crowd boiled around them. Then, out of nowhere, Marik chuckled, amusement transforming his face from annoyance to dry mirth. Bakura looked on, still wary, but Marik was already on to the next thing, turning around to resume his work. "Seems you have a brain after all. But, you know... You've got to be the worst thief I've ever seen."

Bakura froze, his hand halfway to the tabletop, reaching for one of the rings. He snatched the limb back to his side, plastering a look of confusion on his face. "I don't know what you mean," he insisted with complete sincerity.

He wasn't sure exactly when Marik had moved, but suddenly he was on the other side of the stall, encroaching heavily on Bakura's space. He flinched back several paces, belatedly realizing Marik had a firm hold of his bag, which ripped open and spilled gold jewelry all over the dirt.

Damn. He was caught. "Those were already mine," he insisted, desperate. Marik's eyes narrowed.

"You carve my personal seal onto all your jewelry, I take it?" he commented, pointing out a small symbol on one of the rings. Bakura said nothing, staring defiantly at the boy. He was just a stupid Water Tribe rat; could probably take him in a fight.

However, the next words out of Marik's mouth surprised him, "If you want them so badly, take them. They're worthless anyway."

What? "What does that mean?"

"It's all fake gold," Marik told him. "So, like I said, worthless." The admission was delivered so breezily that Bakura wasn't sure he'd heard it correctly.

"They're _fake_?!"

"Would you keep it down? I'm trying to run a business here."

" _Business?!_ "

"Yes," Marik said flatly. "Now go away. I've no use for urchins like you."

Bakura ground his teeth together, glaring at the boy in open dislike. This Marik kid was unbelievable, and altogether infuriating. "You destroyed my property," he complained, holding up his decimated satchel.

"You stole mine."

"Yeah, and it's all _worthless_ , apparently. My bag wasn't!"

"Should have thought of that before, hm?" Marik returned, condescending. He stooped down to pluck the fallen jewelry up off the ground, clearly unconcerned with Bakura's outrage and content to ignore him.

It was then that he noticed it- a flash of reflected light around Marik's neck. A choker, exquisite in design, with a round plate of translucent stone hanging in the center. Lettering was meticulously carved on its surface, the stone held in place by thousands of tightly packed oval beads wrapped around the boy's throat. Sure, his wares may have been fake, but what he was wearing clearly wasn't.

With that shiny trinket in hand, Bakura would be on his way to having both money and payback. Sounded like an ideal plan to him.

Not giving himself much time to think about it, Bakura lowered his stance, grounding himself like he'd been taught. Quick as a whip, he slid his foot backwards, shifting the dirt beneath the other boy's feet to throw off his center of balance. Marik gave a startled grunt as he attempted to right himself, and Bakura took the opportunity to reach down, wrapping his fingers around the precious stone on the boy's neck. An almighty snap sounded, beads flying everywhere, but he didn't waste any time before making his escape. By the time the blonde had recovered, Bakura was several yards away, pushing through the throng of people.

Despite the speedy getaway, the other boy wasn't far behind. He could hear Marik shouting after him, drawing closer and closer every time. Bakura didn't look back, but kept running, confident he would eventually lose his pursuer. His heart was racing, and he was feeling positively euphoric with victory and malice.

Just as he was about to break through the crowd and lose Marik among the maze of huts outside the plaza, he felt his head jerk backward, straining his neck. Bakura tried to twist away, but, agile as he was, it made no difference when Marik had a firm grip on his hair. In the next instant, Bakura was slammed face-first into the ground. Dirt buckled beneath his cheekbone, and he growled, struggling to break free.  
Immediately, Marik pressed down on him with his full weight. "Give it back!" was his fierce command. When Bakura stubbornly gave no reply, he snarled, "Now!"

Bakura's arm was pinned beneath the other boy's knee, but he held onto his prize with all his strength. No way was he going to comply with Marik's demands. Ever. The pressure on the back of his neck increased, causing Bakura to take in a gasp full of dirt. "Did you hear me, you pathetic little beggar?" The boy's voice clanged sharply in Bakura's ear. "Give. It. _Back!_ "

"What's going on here?" a voice sounded up ahead, and the weight crushing Bakura was immediately lifted. He coughed in relief.

One of the watchmen from Jian's guard posts stood a short distance away, his expression stern. Bakura had had a few run-ins with him before, and he could tell he'd been recognized. Tense, Bakura was ready to spring up and away at a moment's notice.

However, it turned out that there was no need for an escape, since Marik waved a hand carelessly at the guard. "Only a misunderstanding," was his affable remark, his tone completely different from how he'd spoken only a moment before. "It was my mistake; sorry for the disturbance."

Before anyone could say anything more, he'd vanished back into the crowd. All Bakura could do was frown, perplexed by the situation. For someone who had just attacked him like that to get his property, he sure seemed unconcerned about it. Bit creepy, Bakura thought.

The watchman seemed just as flummoxed, his robe flapping as he turned a shrewd eye on Bakura. "Didn't I warn you to stay out of trouble?"

"You call this trouble?" was his careless rejoinder before he turned his back on the man. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he sauntered off, glaring at anyone who dared to give him a strange look. As he made his way deeper into the slums of Jian, Bakura kept a tight hold of the stone, and, along with it, he grasped onto a tiny sliver of hope.


	2. Chapter 2

Bakura erupted. "What do you mean you won't buy it?!"

"Mean what I said, kid," the normally cooperative fence, Adriya, drawled. She tucked several errant braided strands of her hair behind her ear, her pet octopus snake undulating around her neck like a strange scarf. Her little shop rested on the outskirts of town, quaintly cluttered with oddities of all sorts.

"I don't need much. Just give me something for it; anything." He had it on good authority that she would make pity deals with children, and he looked quite young for his age, so maybe it would work?

For what it was worth, Adriya genuinely looked apologetic. "I can't, truly. Even if I had coin to give you, I wouldn't touch that thing."

"What's wrong with it?" Bakura asked, dubious.

She leaned both elbows on the countertop, tilting her head to the side. "I can tell right off, that's Water Tribe make. Came across one o' them a few years back, and I vowed then and there, no matter how pretty, I'd never trade 'em again."

He looked down at the offending object, his gaze turning cautious. "... Why?" Bakura inquired, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Her octopus snake hissed, fangs gleaming. "They're cursed," she announced.

Bakura sucked in a breath, his fingertips twitching around the stone.

"They say those things are connected to the Spirit World, crafted by waterbending masters in the north..."

He could hardly hear her; the words swirled in his mind, making him feel dizzy.

"You won't ever find a buyer for that little trinket; you're better off putting it back where you found it."

He was silent. There was nothing to be said.

"Sorry, kid. Better luck next time."

Exiting the shop, he walked several streets away, not really having a destination, not interested in... thinking. Out here in the residential areas of Jian the place was devoid of life, empty. He needed to be alone. He just... needed to be alone.

Bakura emerged from an alleyway, the stone still clutched in his fist, held so tightly that his knuckles began to ache. His neck was also terribly sore, from where Marik had twisted it. He wandered past ramshackle buildings, rotten blankets strewn across the lane, and dusty heaps of trash.

There was a clearing, where, in the center, there sat a grimy water well. Bakura slowed his pace, feeling exhausted despite the fact that not even half the day had passed. Slowly, carelessly, he plopped himself on the ground, leaning his head back against the side of the well and looking up at the sky.

For several minutes, he watched clouds pass, mind empty. Then, the humiliation washed over him like the tide. Bakura closed his eyes, exhaling swiftly. "Of course I get stuck with a cursed rock," he muttered with a bitter chuckle. "Of course."

A cool breeze ruffled his sweat-clumped hair, and he brushed it away from his eyes with a clumsy sweep of his hand. Grunting, he abruptly stood up, dusting off the back of his pants, not that there was much point considering how dirty he already was. Crossing his arms, he leaned on them over the ledge of the well, staring down into the depths. Not much to see, really. At a certain point only darkness remained; Bakura could only assume that there was water beyond that, somewhere. It smelled pretty rotten, though; Bakura breathed in through his mouth instead of his nose.

He wasn't going to return the stone. Not only would that make him look like a fool, but it was just against his principles. Still, he could always... get rid of it.

Shifting his arms, he hovered his hand over the abyss below, the stone laid in his palm. It gleamed menacingly in the early morning sun, and there were grooves in his fingers where he'd been clutching it too tightly. It would be easy to just tip his hand over, get rid of it forever.

He tapped on the translucent surface, making up his mind. So what if it was cursed? At least that Water Tribe scum would never find it, and that was enough for him.

Bakura curled the stone up in his fist, taking a step back and lining up his shot. Better make it a good one, if only to relieve some of the tension that had been building up in him. The ground seemed to rumble beneath his feet; charged with a sudden energy, Bakura threw the stone as hard as he could directly at the inside of the well.

Except, right then, a massive, solid stream of water blasted out from the opening, impacting the upper half of his body directly. He shut his eyes against the deluge, his hair spiraling behind him and water filling his mouth. Then, the liquid hardened around him, turning to a freezing block of ice, trapping him and causing his legs to buckle beneath the weight of it. Most terrifying, however, was the ice lodged in his throat, rendering him unable to breathe.

Instant panic rose within Bakura. He felt certain he would die, suffocated by an icy prison, murdered by waterbending in a strange land. He was so far from home... His corpse would decay in this forsaken place, and nobody would know or care. His final thought on the matter was a hysterical one: Perhaps he should have taken that curse business a little more seriously, considering it would now be his end.

Just as he thought this, the portion of ice that surrounded his head melted away, leaving him wet and coughing, but, blessedly, alive. His arms were still trapped, but he was at least able to open his eyes. Peering from underneath his dripping bangs, he found none other than Marik himself, standing over him, silhouetted by the sun. The stone clutched in his hand, he narrowed his eyes at Bakura.

"I'll be taking this back," he remarked, a menacing undertone to his words.

Bakura coughed, but kept eye contact with the other boy. "In _civilized_ nations, we greet other people with a bow, or a simple 'hello'," he spat, though his snide tone was undercut by the hoarseness of his voice.

" _Hello_ ," Marik replied at once, sarcastic. "And goodbye."

The blonde shifted his weight, allowing the sun to shine into Bakura's eyes. He squinted, watching Marik as he walked away, his stride confident and relaxed.

"Hey!" Bakura shouted after him. By then, the ice was slowly, slowly beginning to melt; though it was likely to take hours considering how large the chunk was. Still, he couldn't move, and his whole body was shaking from the cold. "Hey! You can't just... trap me here!"

The other boy gave him a mocking salute before he turned a corner and fell out of sight. Bakura took in a worried breath. If anyone found him like this, he would definitely be robbed, _again_ , possibly be humiliated by street children, _again_ , and he didn't fancy waiting around for either of those things to happen. Bakura tried once more to appeal to his captor, desperation shining through in his tone. "Don't leave me! _Please_!"

... No response. Bakura grimaced, blinking hard when a droplet of water fell from his bangs to land painfully in his eye. It just figured that the other boy was a waterbender; what a fitting end to one of the worst days he'd had to endure in this sorry town.

His fear of being found in his current state contended with his desire to feel sorry for himself. Bakura stayed where he was for a full minute. On one hand, he was angry, livid even. How dare that little Water Rat do this to him! He would pay for this; if Bakura got half a chance, he'd twist the boy's head straight off!

On the other hand, he had just survived a near-death experience. Even if that had never been Marik's intention, the cold wasn't the only reason Bakura was trembling. The longer he spent in Jian, the longer his string of horrible luck continued, the harder it was to maintain his aura of blind confidence. It crumbled more and more every day.

In the end, his stubborn pride was not so eroded as to cause him to wallow; fear and anger won out in his mind. The last thing he needed was yet another round of humiliation; Bakura was going to get out of there, no matter what he had to do.

Okay, new plan. Perhaps if he just... swung himself... Bakura leaned slightly to the left, intending to heave himself to the other side to crack the ice, but ended up losing his balance and toppling over with a muted thud. Flailing his legs, he tried in vain to leverage himself against the ice, hoping he could maybe pull himself out from the bottom. Seeing as the ice was moulded to his body, he had no luck.

New new plan: Try to roll into something sturdy to break the ice. Squinting around, the only option that seemed feasible was the well, seeing as it was made from stone. Bakura didn't really pause for thought, he just went for it. His journey was bumpy and jarring, considering the ice was water-jet shaped and not round-shaped, but when he reached the well, he threw himself at it with all his might and-

Truth be told, "all his might" wasn't really much at all. The only thing he'd managed to accomplish with that little stunt was to wedge himself at an uncomfortable angle between the well and the sandy ground.

Bakura let out a frustrated growl, resorting to his third, and final, new new new plan. Earthbending. He wasn't even sure he could manage it, seeing as his arms were out of commission, but, as far as escape went, he didn't have a lot of options.

For that, though, he had to stand up again; bit hard to feel grounded in his current position. He rolled back the way he came, the block of ice slamming into the ground and kicking up dust. Bakura tried not to breathe it in, attempting to find purchase on the ground with his feet, despite being on his side.

Slowly, painstakingly, he tried again and again to stand. The first time, he accidentally tried too hard and flipped over. The second time... He flipped over again, his legs kicking in the air wildly. Then, with a stubborn frown on his face, he tried to scrunch his legs up as small as possible, pivoting to the side to lift the ice off the ground. It worked; except, he was sitting back on his knees, making it difficult to stand from that position.

Still, now that he was at least upright, Bakura felt a little more balanced, a little more like he could manage it. Just had to stand up. That's all he had to do.

He didn't pause for very long, exerting all his effort toward his legs. By then, his torso was freezing, both of his arms numb from the cold. Once he'd planted one foot on the ground, that victory spurred him on to lift himself up all the way, his leg muscles strained but holding steady.

He was covered in dirt and sand, but he was standing! Bakura almost couldn't believe it. Now, how to crack the ice... He didn't know very many Earthbending forms, and the ones he knew he wasn't strictly good at. But! He did know how to break a piece of rock out of the ground for the purpose of pelting it at something.

Bakura took a breath through his nose, assuming the appropriate low stance, and slammed his left foot down, causing the dirt to buckle and a rock to shoot up from the ground before him.

Just as he did this, there was a roar of laughter behind him, and he whirled around, teetering due to the imbalance of the ice encasing him.

Marik was leaned against one of the huts, arms crossed over his abdomen as he doubled over, absolutely beside himself with laughter. "I- I can't- All that work, and _that's_ all you've got to show for it?!"

Bakura's gaze snapped to the rock he'd summoned, and he stared at it with dismay. It was about the size of his fist. His face flushed red with embarrassment.

"Shut up!" he snarled in the other boy's direction. "It's your fault I can't use my arms anyway, so _shut up_!"

He carried on cackling anyway. "I'd bet all the money in the world that you couldn't do better with or without your arms!" Marik wheezed.

"Fine! I'll show you, if you let me out," Bakura challenged with a defiant glare.

Marik wiped a tear from his eye, his laughter slowing to the odd chuckle or two here and there. "It's not a proper bet if you can't give me anything," the boy remarked, a calculating glint in his eye.

"You haven't got 'all the money in the world' either," was Bakura's retort.

"No," Marik admitted with a shrug. "But I have got twenty gold pieces." With a flourish, he brandished a handful of the coins.

Bakura scoffed. "How do I know those aren't fake?"

"They're the earnings from my shop, not the wares themselves."

He found that hard to believe. His suspicion must have shown on his face, since Marik continued: "Why would I lie? I've got nothing to lose anyway. It's easy enough for me to just leave you here."

"Why don't you, then?"

"More fun this way," he admitted, causing Bakura to grind his teeth together. "So," a devious smile formed on the boy's features, "what can you offer?"

Not much, unfortunately. Bakura looked away, frowning at the ground. "What do you want?"

There was a pause as Marik seemed to consider this, playing with the coins in his hand and clinking them together. "How about this: if you manage to make a rock at least as big as a dinner plate, I'll let you out and you can keep this money. If you can't, you have to become my servant forever."

Bakura spluttered, " _Servant_? You've got to be joking!"

"Would I jest?" he replied breezily.

"I am not going to be your servant," Bakura spat.

"Not yet, anyway."

"Besides, how is that an even trade at all?!"

"It's not a trade," Marik informed him, smug. "It's a challenge."

"Well still, twenty gold pieces isn't anywhere near the same as being a servant forever."

The other boy performed a small shrug. "Alright then. How about two hundred gold pieces?"

"You haven't got that much," Bakura balked.

Wordlessly, he poured the entire contents of his coinpurse onto the ground. Bakura didn't have an exact count at his disposal, but it wasn't necessary; sitting before him was quite obviously a small fortune.

"There. Does that sweeten the deal for you?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I could always just wait for the ice to melt, you know."

"Of course," Marik returned calmly. "But then, you'd waste precious time in the hot sun, and have nothing to show for it."

Bakura hated that the other boy had a point. He was standing there in petulant silence, weighing his options, when Marik tacked on: "I suppose you're taking so long to decide because you know you can't do it."

His anger flared. "Yes I can!" he erupted.

"Well, if you're so confident, then why delay? Have we got a deal?"

The coins flashed as they caught the sunlight. If Bakura could get even one coin, he would finally be able to pay for passage out of Jian. With the full pile, he could buy his own riverboat, four times over.

"Fine. Deal."

Marik nodded. "Alright, then." His center of gravity shifted smoothly as he swung his arms around toward his chest before letting out a puff of air, pulling both hands down to his waist, parallel to the ground. The ice obediently turned to water, sluicing off of Bakura and splashing downward in tandem with the other boy's controlled movements.

Bakura shook himself, but it was pointless; he was completely soaked. His arms also seemed to be useless noodles attached to his shoulders, barely able to be controlled. Still, it was good to be free, and he wasted no time stretching out, reaching his thawing arms up as far as they would go.

The other boy, for his part, had resumed his casual lean against the wall, arms crossed and a smug little smirk slashed across his face. "Before you go thinking you can just run off without honoring our agreement, I can just as easily put you back," he commented.

Bakura glared at him. "That supposed to impress me?"

Marik didn't answer, merely watching intently. Oh, right. He was supposed to be Earthbending.

Nothing for it; he needed that money badly. Heat flared under Bakura's skin; if he hadn't been cold and clammy already, he felt as if he might have begun sweating. It was hard for him to concentrate under scrutiny, especially unfavorable scrutiny.

He spread his legs apart, his bare feet parallel and pointed straight ahead, arms bent and hands curled into fists on either side. Silently, he lifted his foot and stomped down as hard as possible, putting every ounce of energy and strength and passion and _desperation_ into that one action.

The rock shot up before him. It was the same size as before, perhaps even a little smaller than his initial attempt.

Bakura obeyed his first instinct: to run. Without even a pause, he bolted away down the street. Before he'd even passed the first row of houses, his next footfall never hit the ground, for his left ankle was caught by a stream of water, causing him to fall with a heavy _oof_ into the dirt.

He spun around instantly, already swinging and ready to fight, but Marik was several paces away, walking over as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Told you not to run," he pointed out.

"I don't care what you say!"

"You should. I'm your new master, after all."

Bakura made a noise of utter disgust. "No you aren't."

"Did we, or did we not, have an agreement?"

"Stuff your agreement; I'm not anyone's property!"

Marik looked unfazed by his prolonged defiance, instead flinging something directly at him. He flinched, but the object landed harmlessly on the ground next to him: a silver coin. "As your master, my first order is to go buy yourself some decent clothes," the boy commanded, wrinkling his nose. "I hardly needed to make an effort to find you when your stench makes you so easy to track down."

He grit his teeth together. "Shut it, y-"

"Your second order is to report to my ship at the dockyard tomorrow morning at dawn."

Bakura glared on principle, but was feeling more confused by the second. "Er... what?" was all he could manage to say. Marik's expression was unreadable, but his tone was stern and his gaze direct, unrelenting.

"If you're late," the other boy continued, "we'll leave you behind."

With that, he turned heel and walked away, pausing only to use his waterbending to gather up the mass of gold coins he'd tossed to the ground. That done, he didn't spare Bakura another glance before he left the scene entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

Bakura found himself curled up, sullen, atop a stack of empty crates by the docks. There he'd sat for hours, unable to sleep the entire night, debating and deliberating endlessly with himself about whether or not this offer could be trusted, or if he even wanted to trust it. Grumpy and exhausted, he watched as ten boats left the harbor, the festival now over and its patrons returning to their previous occupations.

All night, he'd been unable to see a single star. His father used to say that each star in the sky was a promise, meant to remind you that a new day would come again. Bakura was unsettled that they couldn't be seen at such a crucial moment, when he needed their light more than ever.

The sun had yet to rise, but there was a persistent glow on the horizon, coloring the sky a muted gradient of orange and blue. He had to make his decision soon, or it would be made for him, but Marik's words seem to clang around his head uselessly; he couldn't make sense of them. His eyes darted around at the various passers-by on the docks, as if the other boy would pop out of nowhere to drag him off. What did he really know about the Water Tribe, anyway? What would he be expected to do? Was it really wise to accept orders from someone he'd only just met? He grimaced; probably not.

Taking a deep breath, he held it in before expunging it forcefully. He was tired of worrying about this. The fact was, he'd left home on a mission, and this was the quickest way to accomplish it; it didn't particularly matter what happened to him in the process.

Hopping down from the crate, Bakura fell into step behind a group of tradesmen trekking across the pier. Though the place was busy, it lacked the energy that was present for festival day. People's movements were more subdued, lethargic; it was, after all, quite early, and many had had their fill of drink well into the night. He walked past several boats, all of which were active with seamen accomplishing pre-sail ablutions, captains barking orders, passengers settling in, heavy clunks of footsteps on wood. Bakura passed two men throwing off their ship's moorings, an elderly man slumped over in the sand in a drunken stupor, a stern woman ordering several small boys to carry two barrels at a time if they wanted to earn their wages, and a group of five who were arguing about how best to pull an enormous caged animal up the gangway without it taking one of their hands off.

Observing all this in silence, Bakura gradually made his way toward Marik's ship. Since the moment he'd arrived the night before, it had become quite clear why Marik had not given any further instruction for finding his ship other than "at the docks": there was no way you could miss it.

While the other ships in the harbor were all colored wood and earth tones, and of stocky, resilient make, Marik's ship was adorned with bright ivory accents, its shape that of a giant sea serpent, jaws agape at the fore. Though a great deal smaller than the rest of the ships on the dock, its wooden body was carved in spiraling patterns, and the ship positively gleamed with immaculate glory compared to the dirty, plain earth kingdom boats. In addition, there were large swaths of blue cloth bunched up or hanging down from tall pillars in the center. What those could possibly be used for, Bakura had no idea.

He stopped walking just in front of it, the serpent's jaws spread wide before him and his bare feet growing cold atop the wet planks that made up the walkway. The statue was cast in deep shadow, its features gleaming grotesquely in the early morning light, looking as if it might come alive to swallow Bakura whole. The illusion of sentience was all the more prevalent as the serpent swayed and bobbed with the flow of the river, only its moorings keeping it from floating away.

Bakura couldn't say if his shudder was from the chill, or from the effigy before him. In either case, he stepped away, turning to walk onto the pier adjacent.

As he made his way closer to the platform that lead onto the ship, Marik was nowhere to be seen. However, the other man from the market stall stood at the bottom, still as a statue. Wearing only heavy, fur-lined trousers and a low-hanging necklace made entirely of large animal teeth, the bald man had his meaty arms crossed in front of him, a shrewd eye assessing whoever passed by. Bakura had never seen such a large, imposing, and stoic figure, and was startled when, as he approached, the man's gaze snapped directly at him.

"You are Ryou?" he inquired, though it sounded more like a demand.

For a half second, Bakura was confused, until he realized that was the name he'd given Marik when they first met. "Yes," he replied, apprehensive.

The man grunted an acknowledgement, leading the way onto the ship. Bakura stared at his heavily muscled back, resolve wavering now that he'd arrived at the precipice between staying and leaving. If he set foot on this ship, there was no turning back.

He followed after the man.

Atop the deck, there were three men and one woman milling around, but there didn't seem to be any of the urgent energy Bakura had witnessed on the other ships, though Marik had made it clear they would be leaving exactly at dawn. Idle as they were, all eyes turned to him as he made his appearance, and Bakura levelled a sour glare at them. Nobody seemed phased.

Bald Guy led him up a short set of stairs to the back end of the ship. There, perched on the rim of the boat, was Marik, his legs crossed, elbows propped on his knees, and chin resting on both hands. The moment he spotted them, his posture straightened right up. "Took you long enough," he scowled, looking directly at Bakura. He wasn't sure what the other boy meant by that, but it became apparent when he continued: "You walked so slow, you'd think you were shuffling off to your tomb."

He had no idea how to respond to that, so he didn't bother, merely staring at Marik in purposeful silence.  
"Nothing to say?" Marik quipped with a smirk. "That's a first."

"I have some... terms," Bakura announced, an angry crease between his eyebrows.

A short, mocking laugh. " _Terms_?"

"I don't know what game you're after with this stupid 'servant' thing," he began. "But if that's what you're into, I'll play along, with a few exceptions."

Marik's eyebrows rose. Obviously amused, he replied, "Servants aren't really in a position to make demands, you know."

Bakura ignored him. "I'll clean this or fetch that, but don't think about touching me, or coming anywhere near me, even. I'd sooner drown myself than be subject to your... _tastes_."

The other boy gave him an odd, puzzled frown and commented, "How... uh, how old are you...? Exactly?"

"Term number two: you don't get to ask me personal questions."

"Suit yourself, then." Marik shrugged, nonchalant. "But, my 'tastes', as you put it, are limited to food."

"Don't care," Bakura announced at once, before he continued: "I will not be confined to a cell or trapped in ice, or water, or anything. _Ever_."

"Fine, fine, I get it..."

"You will not take anything that belongs to me."

A scoff. "Like you own anything of value."

"I expect to be paid a fair wage."

"You're taking this quite seriously, aren't you?"

"And," Bakura emphasized. "You will take me to the Water Tribe city in the north."

Marik's expression noticeably darkened before he answered, "No."

Taken aback, his eyes narrowed. "Why?" he demanded.

"The answer is no."

"Out of all my demands, _that's_ the one you object to?" Bakura challenged, hands on his hips. "Aren't you from there?"

Marik didn't answer, but he clearly didn't intend to back down.

"This isn't a negotiation. If you won't take me there, then you can go ahead and find some other kid dumb enough to put up with you." Bald Guy didn't seem to like that, since he shot Bakura an intense glare. "And if you think you can scare me with your weird bodyguard, think again."

If he had to describe Marik's demeanor in that moment, 'unhappy' would be an understatement. "You don't even understand your own position, do you," he seethed, whole body rigid with anger. "Have you got a death wish or something?"

"Take me to the Water Tribe, or I'm leaving."

"I have no reason to meet a single one of your requests. It means nothing to me if you decide to walk away."

"Then watch me," Bakura shot back, instantly turning on his heel to go back the way he came. He hadn't even made it to the stairs before Marik called for him to wait.

Turning halfway back, he watched as Marik unfolded his legs, hopping down to stand on the deck. "You are the biggest fool I've ever met," he spat, bitter. "So, congratulations. You're going to Bǎoshí."

His confusion must have shown on his face since Marik gave an almighty sigh before exclaiming, "You don't even know the name of the city you so badly want to visit?!"

Oh. Right. Bakura lifted his chin, lying through his teeth, "I knew the name. I just didn't think you'd give in so easily."

Marik's lip curled. "We'll see if you can call it 'easy' in a few days," he retorted. He immediately turned his attention to the men lazing about on the deck, raising his voice so loudly that Bakura winced. "We're off to Hāban! Good weather to practice your forms! Anzu and Ektor on currents; Tomak, Jo, gyre and watchpoint!"

The only woman on deck shot up into a standing position immediately, bright-eyed and at-the-ready. "W-wait- really?! You want me on currents?" she inquired, breathless with excitement.

Beside her, a scrawny, grey-haired man gingerly lifted himself up and groused, "He's just tired of doing it himself, I'll bet. Come, girl, take your position. Everyone knows I'll be doing most of the work."

At that, she looked offended, shooting the man a nasty glare as she marched over to the opposite side of the ship. "You'll have to keep up with me first, old man."

The other two crewmen went to their places, one to the very front edge of the ship, and one to the back where Bakura, Marik, and Bald Guy were standing. As the latter approached, he was hastily tucking his oversized, billowy shirt into his trousers, though a good portion of his shoulder and chest was still visible due to the large neckline. He commented, "We're going to be sailing in circles with those two together."

Marik gave a small 'hmph'. "I don't have a lot of options. Either they work together, or I'll throw them over to see if they float."

The man barked a short, wheezing laugh. "I'd like to see that."

"Let's hope your dream never comes true," the boy lamented, turning to Bald Guy. "Rishid, watch them. We're already a day later than intended; I don't need bad form delaying us further."

The man bowed, _actually bowed_ , to Marik, his head lowered as his upper body bent at the waist. "As you wish."

Bakura blinked, inwardly cringing, but managing to hold his tongue. He already knew the kid had some strange master-and-servant dynamics, but this was a bit much. Marik, for his part, seemed to take this entirely in stride, not even acknowledging it and instead turning to Bakura, frown returning. "Come with me."

He followed Marik down the stairs and to the left, where a small alcove was built into the ship and a circular hatch was set into the floorboards. Throwing open the hatch, Marik descended a short ladder before jumping down, his footfalls pounding the wood below. Bakura did the same; however, as he did so, the boat lurched forward, throwing him off balance and causing him to fall on his arm and shoulder.

He scrambled up again quickly, not wanting Marik to have any more fodder to mock him, but there was no need; the other boy was too busy rifling through a crate to pay Bakura any attention. Below deck it was dark and difficult to see anything very clearly, but the light shining through the upper slats revealed a long line of crates on either side of a narrow center walkway. Beyond the crates was some sort of large rug, upon which were piled woven sacks and various other trinkets that appeared to be personal effects.

The boat swayed sickeningly, and he stumbled, grabbing the ladder for support and doing his level best not to feel sick. "What are they doing up there?"

Marik glanced over his shoulder. "What I told them to," he remarked, his tone a touch snide. "Unlike you. Didn't I tell you to buy some new clothes?"

Bakura glanced down at his attire, just as dirty and plain as the day before. "I don't need you to tell me where to spend my money," was his defiant reply. Marik's incredulous stare went on long enough for Bakura to get uncomfortable. "What are we doing down here, anyway?"

The other boy narrowed his eyes, assessing Bakura critically. "Maybe it's for the best you didn't buy clothes. I think I might have some that will fit you."

"What?!" he exclaimed, confused, but mostly nauseous from the odd movements of the ship.

"Wait," was Marik's demand, and he closed up one crate to move on to another. Bakura grabbed onto the ladder tighter as the boat swayed so far to the left that several of the other crates began sliding to the opposite side. This must have irritated Marik, since he yelled toward the open hatch: "Steady rhythm, or I'm putting you both on bilge!"

There were some answering shouts from topside, but Bakura was too busy trying to steady himself to pay attention to what they were saying. As for Marik, he made a noise of triumph as he pulled something from the very bottom of his crate.

"Found it," he announced, unfolding the garment. It was hard to see it clearly, but it appeared blue-ish in the gloom.

"Whatever it is, I'm not wearing it," Bakura said at once.

Marik sighed. "You already had your time to state your _terms_. Now it's my turn. You'll wear what I tell you to."

"You haven't even agreed to my terms," Bakura pointed out with a frown.

His reply was a dry chuckle. "Bit late now. Maybe you should've drawn up a contract."

For a moment, they just looked at each other. It wasn't even a battle of wills- more like a distrustful stalemate. Then, Marik ventured, "Consider this your... uniform. You do what I ask without whining about it, and I will do the same."

"Including taking me to the Water Tribe?"

Marik gave him a disdainful sniff, but still said, "Yes, including that."

"I need to go there as soon as possible."

"I just said 'yes', didn't I? Why is it so important to you, anyway?"

Bakura didn't answer, though he gave their conversation as a whole some consideration before he replied, "I won't just obey you blindly."

The other boy tilted his head minutely. "I never said you should."

"And I won't bow to you."

"Then don't."

His brow furrowed as he prepared to ask the question that had troubled him most during his sleepless night. "What... What exactly is it that you want from me?"

"To wear these clothes."

Bakura couldn't tell if Marik was being obtuse on purpose or if his focus was naturally rooted in the present. Still, this maybe wasn't the time to press the issue.

"... Fine, I'll wear your stupid clothes."

"Good. Change now, and come up when you're done." With that, he shoved the bundle of garments into Bakura's arms and ascended the ladder with practiced speed, nearly pushing him over in the process. In a moment, he found himself alone in the shadowed belly of the serpent, unsure what it was he'd just agreed to.


	4. Chapter 4

He looked like a Water Rat.

"I look like a Water Rat," Bakura announced, glaring down at the sight of himself with displeasure. Wearing a sleeveless tunic the color of the sky, a dark leather belt about his waist, and fur-lined moccasins, he looked just as absurd as everyone else on the accursed ship.

"There is no such animal," Bald Guy informed him, which really wasn't the point.

"Don't you people live in the cold? Why is this so thin, and why is there nothing covering my arms?"

"Calm down, will you?" Marik snapped, irritated. He had been engaged in helping one of the other crew members, but, when Bakura had arrived, began making his way towards the back of the ship once more. "It's meant to be worn inside, or during the summer. What, did you think we wore heavy coats all day, every day?"

Bakura just glared. The other boy continued, "And anyway, that's the point; you're supposed to look like one of us."

"But I'm not," he countered, arms folded.

Marik mimicked his childish stance, folding his arms as well. "Ob-viously. Good news, though: the clothes will be the least of your problems."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Marik retorted, stooping down to pick up a large bundle of fabric and walking past him. "You only get the things you want by working for them."

That sounded vaguely ominous, but Bakura was suddenly distracted by- "Uh... Where is Jian?"

Looking around, he realized the landscape was passing by them with dizzying speed. The docks, the other ships, the city he'd been trapped in for so long... None of it was in sight; not even a speck on the horizon. The sun had fully risen, its insistent glow causing him to squint as he tried to find his bearings.

Marik didn't answer him, but a helpful voice sounded to Bakura's left. "You just missed it; we went 'round a bend in the river."

As he turned in the direction of the sound, he realized it was the girl from earlier. She had her back turned to him, but, contrary to the lazy attitude he'd witnessed when he arrived, she was clearly engaged at work. Her arms glided on the air as if she were caressing it, her poise undisturbed despite how shaky Bakura's legs felt on the unstable deck. Circling her hands around, each finger precise and careful, she seemed to be performing a strange dance toward an invisible audience on the nearby shoreline.

Not a dance, though, Bakura realized. Waterbending. Looking around, he could see plainly what he hadn't thought to consider before: These people, like Marik, were all Waterbenders. The elderly man was stationed on the other side, his movements mirroring the girl's, and the remaining two crewmen were in position at the front and back, performing their own water-related duties, Bakura supposed. The ship was cutting through the river as naturally as if it were a real sea creature, the water seeming to jump out of the way for its passage.

Astonished, he said aloud, "That's how we're going so fast." The girl glanced over her shoulder at him, giving a short laugh.

"Our people have been sailing a lot longer than yours have," she quipped, obviously proud, shifting her weight to her other foot and fluidly twisting her arms in tandem. "We know what we're doing."

Just as she said so, Bald Guy barked, "Anzu, your timing is out of sync. Do not let yourself be distracted."

The girl ducked her head, turning fully away from Bakura. "Yes, sir," she murmured, chastised.

Able to assess her more closely, Bakura observed that she was attired similarly to Marik, adorned with all manner of jewelry and ocean-colored fabrics, except she appeared to be wearing a silken frock, flowing down to her knees. It was cinched at the waist with a thin strip of cloth, and attached to each end was a tuft of fur. A tall and generously proportioned girl, the garment seemed to accentuate her figure and enhance the grace of her movements. She also wore a necklace, similar to the one Bakura had attempted to steal...

"Why are you just standing around?" Marik was glancing between him and the girl with a bemused frown.

Defensive, Bakura pointed out, "You haven't given me anything to do."

"Help me take these down," he replied promptly, gesturing to a few large crates piled beside the hatch. They obviously would not be able to fit through the opening.

"Er... How?"

Marik shot him a triumphant grin, as if he'd been waiting for this question. He stepped over, giving the wall beside the hatch a firm, stomping kick. The wood fell backward, landing flat, and the space behind where it had previously stood was hollow. "Load them here first."

Bald Guy, or whatever his name was, Rishid, stepped forward with an objection. "Master Marik, I must insist you refrain from lifting anything. You are still not fully healed."

Bakura wrinkled his nose at the title of 'Master', but looked at Marik with a more critical, assessing eye. There didn't look like anything was wrong with him, but, still, the other boy scowled, not refuting the claim.

"I appreciate your concern, but I'll do as I please." This was spoken politely but with a sharp edge.

The other man looked as if he'd like to protest, but all he said was, "As you wish."

Marik fixed his gaze at Bakura once more, expectant, and, in response, he reluctantly wandered over toward the crates, bending down to lift the first one. It wasn't heavy, but, curious, he inquired, "What's in these?"

"Jewelry," was his short reply. "Try to resist the urge to steal them, this time."

He grimaced, rolling his eyes behind Marik's back. "Okay, so, what's in the rest?"

"It's all the same."

Bakura squinted at the fifteen crates lined up on the deck. "All of it? What do you need so many crates of fake jewelry for?"

"It isn't all fake, you know."

"So, what? You're some kind of... swindler craftsman?"

Marik threw a crate onto the wood with a heavy bang, his eyes hooded and tone sharp. "No."

"Then why do you have so much? Shouldn't you have sold most of it at the festival?"

"There's actually more below." That wasn't really an answer, but the blonde continued: "Sometimes the stock is in demand, sometimes not. But I like to be prepared."

Seemed a bit excessive, in his opinion, but, considering Marik's stance, it was pointless to say so. The two of them piled in the remaining crates, each heavier than the last by Bakura's estimation, the only sound passing between them the scraping of wood and their plodding footsteps. At length, he stacked the last one, and winced as one of the muscles in his arm ached.

"Okay, now what?"

Marik was untying a rope on the right side of the opening, and ordered, "Grab the one on the other side, and do not let it fall."

"Let what fall?"

"The crates," he shot back, suddenly annoyed. "Have you not been paying attention?"

"What has this rope got to do with the crates?"

Marik stared at him, brow furrowed in suspicion. A moment passed, long enough for Bakura to look away at the other people on the ship as if searching for answers from them. Then, the blonde finally replied, "These are attached to the platform we put the crates on. We will be able to slowly lower it under the ship, but that means you cannot let go of the rope until it reaches the bottom."

Bakura felt a bit talked down to, but began untying the left-side rope anyway. "So, you just mean this whole thing is like a lifter."

It was Marik's turn to be confused. "A... lifter?"

"The men who take a plate of stone and lift it to a higher chute with Earthbending. Or, you know, lower it to ground level."

"Is that what they're called?"

Bakura shrugged, continuing his work with the rope. "That's what I was told when I visited Omashu once."

Marik raised his eyebrows. "I see."

As the rope came free from the ring it had been tied around, and he grabbed hold of it properly, it became apparent just how difficult a task lowering the platform would be. "Uh... You sure only two of us should be doing this?"

The rope was taut in his hands, straining his muscles, and he leaned backward to additionally use his weight as leverage. Marik, across the way, didn't seem to be having nearly as much trouble, his effort minimal, comparatively. Bakura almost immediately broke into a sweat.

"Making good time to Hāban is more important than having an extra pair of hands for menial work."

Since it was the second time he'd mentioned the place, and since Marik had thus far been patient with questions, Bakura felt prompted to ask, "Where is Hāban?"

"Straight west, following the northward curve of the continent. The trip is four days if we take it easy, three if we make a steady effort, but, since we're a day late, we've got to go through the night to make it in two."

During the explanation, they had begun the work of lowering the platform. The slowness of their movements made the agony in his muscles seem that much worse. "What's so important about two days from now?" he managed to say, his voice strangled.

"Bit nosy, aren't you? Make sure this stays level, or you'll have quite the cleanup job."

Bakura didn't consider it 'nosy' to want to know where they were going and why, but it was probably wise to focus on the task at hand. His weight, slight as it was, didn't seem to be helping much. He scooted forward suddenly as his bare feet slipped on the wooden beams, causing the platform to dip on his side. Marik hurried to correct the discrepancy, hissing, "Careful!"

It felt like an hour had passed, but finally, after an immense struggle, he heard the platform hit the bottom of the ship. The rope went slack in his hands, and Bakura let out a breath of intense relief.

"Now to unload downstairs," Marik announced, flipping open the hatch and gesturing for Bakura to go first. Winded and exhausted, the prospect of climbing down the ladder sounded insurmountable, much less the work that was waiting below. Bakura looked Marik directly in the eye, knowing that he must have noticed the state he was in. He had to have. There was no way he could miss it.

Marik stared back, expectant yet... amused? "Hurry now; lots to do today."

With that pronouncement, a pit of dread formed in Bakura's stomach. Just how many jobs did the other boy have for him? He could only hope they weren't all as grueling.

Trudging to the opening, he climbed down with careful steps, not wanting a repeat of his earlier tumble. Marik came down after him, skipping the last few rungs to jump down to the lower deck, a spring in his step.

"Alright, time to catalogue. You know how to read and write?"

"Of course I do," Bakura grumbled, having energy enough to be offended.

Marik continued, "Good. What about numbers?"

"Are you seriously asking me if I can count?"

A shrug. "It's not like I took down your qualifications before I gave you the job."

Then why did you? he nearly retorted. "Yeah, but I'm not a five-year-old!" Bakura huffed instead.

Marik held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay... I need you to open up each crate, make sure everything is all accounted for, and sort them on either side. Fake ones go on this side of the ship, and real ones on the other. I've got a list of all the stock in here-" He handed over thin, leather-bound book. "-and I want to know immediately if they don't match up. After today, whatever's missing comes out of your wages."

Bakura's lip twisted in displeasure as he began thumbing through the book. "I'm supposed to identify every single piece of jewelry in every single crate?"

"Yes."

Looking at the numerous crates before him, and imagining just how many necklaces, rings, and bracelets could be stuffed into them, Bakura inquired, "How... How many are there?"

"No idea. Several hundred, most likely."

He frowned, squinting at Marik. "That could take all day."

The other boy lifted his eyebrows, tilting his head. "It just might."

With that blasé pronouncement, Bakura had a feeling that was his intent all along. "And how exactly am I meant to know the difference between real and fake jewelry?"

"You'll know," Marik commented dismissively, waving a hand. "Find me when you're done." With that, the blonde made his way swiftly through the upper hatch, the trapdoor banging shut behind him.

Bakura sighed, rotating his shoulder from discomfort. Apparently, there was quite a job ahead of him. He briefly considered using his task as an excuse to lounge around and do nothing, but, while defiance seemed like a fun idea, it was likely to get boring quickly.

At least he wouldn't have anyone breathing down his neck. This might be a good time to get his bearings, even; to everyone else on the ship, he probably looked like some sort of idiot who had never seen Waterbending before. Well, he hadn't, but that didn't mean that he was going to go around mouth agape at everything in sight. He'd rather die than give them the pleasure of thinking they were better than him.

With that thought it mind, he began his task. Cracking open the leather book, Bakura set to work matching crate after crate, and picking through item after item. The muscles in his arms wobbled with each heavy box he dragged over to its place. The general lack of an organization system caused him to mismatch crates many times, but, thankfully, the notes in the book itself were clearly written. Was this Marik's handwriting? He seemed the type to delegate this sort of work; so, perhaps not, but it was an intriguing thought. The penmanship was consistent and flowing, like a woman's, though just as he thought this he imagined the lecture he might get from his sisters for voicing something like that.

Shaking his head, he abandoned his musings, returning to work. Marik was right about one thing, at least: it was very obvious which were fake and which weren't. Though the lighting below deck was dim, he hardly needed it; the fake jewelry was heavy and clunky, like they were made of rock. For all he knew, they were made of rock. On the other hand, the real jewelry was more fragile, intricate. A solid bracer of gold had a delicate weight to it, warming to his touch in a way that made him feel as if he could reshape it with his bare hands. In addition, they were of vibrant and curious workmanship, filled with color and shapes he had rarely witnessed, even among the rich circles his family had frequented.

It seemed almost silly that he had attempted to pilfer the fake ones at all. Perhaps desperation had clouded his judgment, or perhaps he'd paid so little attention to high society that it hardly mattered to him what was "real" or "fake". It was all equally useless in the end.

Although, Marik seemed to find some use out of hoarding jewelry. Bakura wondered if he was simply a terrible salesman. That would certainly explain why he couldn't get rid of any of it, but it didn't explain how he could afford to own a boat and employ his own crew. Perhaps he really was similar to a lot of the people Bakura had known growing up... Just a spoiled child roaming around spending his parents' silvers just so he could feel less bored with his life.

Thus, Bakura distracted himself many more times with errant thoughts and impressions, torn between cynicism and relentless curiosity; so much so that, when he finally emerged from the hatch, the sun had traveled to the opposite side of the sky.

The crew was quiet; come to think of it, he hadn't heard any commotion from up top for quite some time. They were still in their positions, however. The were two on either side of the ship who continued to perform their synchronized dance with each other. Moving steadily forward, the water sprayed at the bow with an exact, steady rhythm; though Bakura still felt vaguely wobbly watching the landscape pass swiftly by, he'd had time enough to attune himself to that rhythm. At the very least, he didn't feel as nauseated.

Shutting the hatch behind him, and clutching the leather book in his right hand, Bakura cast his gaze around, searching for Marik. There were a few dark silhouettes at the front of the ship, but- "Best not disturb them for a bit," a lilting voice instructed him. Bakura's gaze snapped to a man lounging on the staircase railing.

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" he countered, lifting his chin. The man let out a jolly, wheezing cackle, and Bakura instantly recognized him as the man from earlier with the billowy shirt. Though his shirt was more well-tucked at that point, his laugh was quite distinctive, like nothing Bakura had ever heard before.

"Name's Joto. Sorry; just, I tell people what to do all the time. Force of habit. Don't mean nothin' by it."

Bakura backed down minutely, partially mollified by the man's casual demeanor, but made the grumbling inquiry, "What exactly is it you do here?"

Joto smiled, revealing gleaming teeth. "I'm Marik's watchpoint. And navigator. Nobody knows these seas like I do, that's for sure." Bakura wasn't going to ask what a watchpoint was, but it looked like he didn't have to. "I make sure we're headed in the right direction, and guide us through any, eh- rough terrain, so to speak. Everyone takes my warnings seriously, here. You should too."

"That so?" Bakura replied, petulant.

"Yep!" came the gleeful retort. "Even Marik knows I ain't talking out my arse, you know?"

He huffed, turning away. These Water Tribe people were so strange and improper. Normally, he might have respected them for it, if it weren't so irritating. Joto, on the other hand, didn't seem put off by Bakura's demeanor. "Anyhow, Marik's got Anzu learning a few new forms while we're on steady waters. He don't like being disturbed while he's teaching. Ektor reckons he's got eyes for her, but I ain't seen it myself."

Bakura wasn't sure how to feel, already being involved in strange gossip; so, he changed the subject. "You just call him Marik? Not like..."

"Oh, you mean how Rishid's got all them 'yes sirs' and what have you?" the man replied, waving a mockingly pompous hand. "He's an uptight sort, that one."

Suddenly, the old man barked from nearby, "Would you two shut your mouths? Some of us have work to do." He hadn't paused in his movements, and Bakura noticed that the man was twisted and hunched over as if his spine wasn't quite the right shape.

Joto shot back a friendly, "Ektor, you are a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. What would we do without you, truly?"

He harrumphed. "Dance on my grave, most likely. And you- you would drown in women and strong drink."

His wheezing laugh sounded like the note of a rusty bell. "Sounds like a good way to leave the world."

"Pah," Ektor grunted.

Joto turned back round to give Bakura a cheeky grin. "Don't mind 'im. Just the resident grumpy old man, eh?"

"He's not actually that old, you know," another voice sounded from the other side of the ship, gentle but boomingly low-pitched.

Bakura finally had an opportunity to survey the fourth member of the crew. He was a large man, both in stature and girth, clad in a simple, long-sleeved tunic and wrapped in a patchy fur mantle. The gloves and shoes he wore were frayed and discolored. Most notable, however, was his naturally dour expression, his glare rendered all the more formidable by his strong, dark eyebrows.

One of his meaty legs jostled the boat as he placed a foot down to complete one of the forms, making Ektor growl, "You lot need to shut your gobs, before Feather-Foot over there sends us all overboard."

"Tomak has a hard time with the rhythm," Joto exposited at a loud whisper. Then, in a more normal voice, he offered, "You hungry? We all ate about an hour ago; Rishid cooked us up some steamed arctic clams and seaweed soup!"

Bakura couldn't think of a single thing that sounded more unappealing, but before he could utter an objection the other man had caught hold of his wrist and was dragging him toward the front of the ship, where he had warned against going five minutes prior.

As they approached, he could hear Marik's voice more and more clearly. "... relax this arm more, and keep that lightness of foot. Yes, like that. Lean into the movement like there's a strong wind at your back."

He circled around the girl to her other side, performing the same stance alongside her, his arms lightly held outward at his left side, one foot planted while the other delicately kept balance. "Put the breath behind it, and-" Marik's arms snapped forward, the water from a nearby bucket flying through the air and hardening into a pointed ice shard. It narrowly skimmed past him and plunged into the sea ahead with such speed it surely would have been a deathly blow to any living thing. Bakura swallowed, uncomfortable.

Anzu performed the same action moments later, though it was not nearly so powerful, or as terrifyingly precise, as Marik's had been. "That feels quite a lot better, actually. Almost like... effortless," she observed, lifting her eyes and relaxing out of her previous position to stand normally. "Oh. Visitors."

Marik crossed his arms before he'd even seen who the invaders were, rolling his eyes when his gaze finally landed on them. "Thought I told you to do your job, Joto."

"I'm getting there!" the man protested. "Only, this 'un hasn't eaten anything."

His attention fell on Bakura, eyes instantly narrowing in suspicion. "Has 'this one' finished his task?"

His doubting tone sent anger through Bakura's veins, but Joto replied for him, "Kid's got to eat. Been down there all day, you know."

"Still has to earn it," Marik countered. "He could have been sleeping down there, for all we know."

Bakura didn't even want the food, but still he raised his voice. "Maybe instead of blowing hot air, you should see for yourself."

The blonde raised his eyebrows, straightening his stance as his arms fell to his sides. "Yes, let's."

Much to his own consternation, he found below deck a highly organized scene. His hand shot out toward Bakura. "The book."

With a smug jauntiness, he handed over the journal. Once it was in hand, Marik headed over to one side, inspecting a crate with a practiced eye. Though the booklet was open in his hand, he hardly glanced at it. Bakura waited, anxious but haughty, for judgement to be pronounced.

At length, after only peering into a few crates on either side, Marik closed the journal, handing it back to Bakura. "Good work," he murmured, calm as could be.

Not what he'd expected at all, he wrapped his fingers around the journal with dumbfounded slowness. "Uh... Really?" Bakura replied, his inquiry colored by suspicion.

Marik shrugged. "Room for improvement, of course, but you did what I asked."

He had nothing to say. Luckily, Marik filled up the silence.

"Well, I suppose if you've finished, you are free to do as you please for an hour or so before you're needed again. Hāban is still quite a long way off, and we'll need the help." He sighed, stretching his leg as if it pained him. When Bakura still made no reply, he continued: "Didn't realize it was so late actually; Rishid will likely lecture me about eating, again, but I despise clams." He made a noise of utter disgust. "I'd sooner eat my shoes; the only person who has ever managed to make them halfway edible is my mother, but that's all down to-"

Joto's head popped through the circular hole in the ceiling. "Rishid's asking after you, Capt'n," he announced.

"Of course he is," Marik sighed, throwing up his hands. He had climbed halfway back up topside before he looked back over his shoulder. "You coming?"

After a moment's hesitation, Bakura grabbed hold of the ladder.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are steadily getting way longer. Ooooops.  
> Thanks: To Rene & Trinity, my beautiful cheerleaders.

Bakura had been experiencing the same dream for months.

There was a massive mountain, taller and wider than any he'd ever seen. It seemed to stretch out infinitely in all directions, but still Bakura could see it taper off way above, the peak somehow still visible to him from the ground. The trick was this: the mountain, though immense, majestic, was made entirely out of white sand; it trickled and swirled with each breath of wind, the crags of the mountainside ever changing with the currents. Bakura knew - instinctively - that to reach the top would be bliss; he wanted nothing more. A force seemed to beckon him toward the upper crest, like a tether attached to his chest was pulling, pulling, pulling.

He scrambled up the unstable face of the mountain, gripping at hand holds which seemed to melt away before he'd even touched them. Tough work, but he would persist. _All would be well in the end_ , he thought continuously, a mantra that pounded in his head so loud that it seemed to be coming from the mountain itself. On occasion, he would find hand holds that stayed true, as if they'd been placed by travelers who came before him.

Up and up, the longer he traveled the more sure footholds he found, to the point where he sought them out exclusively. However, they always caused him discomfort, requiring some form of contortion that prompted him to seek out the next gripping ledge for relief. Yet, each time, by necessity, he was bending in odd directions more painful than the last.

His whole body ached, but still, the mountain pulsed beneath his fingers. _All will be well in the end_.

There was a gleaming… _something_ up ahead, but it was blurry, indistinct, and, for some reason, it made him begin to feel a touch fearful for his life. After all, having come so far, it meant that falling would be fatal. Still, the sand between his fingers soothed him, saying all would be well.

When Bakura reached the summit, finally completing his arduous journey, he-

"Wake up, Princess; Marik's called a meeting."

There was a sharp poke in his side, and Bakura's eyes snapped open. Blearily, he could make out the odd silhouette of the old man, Ektor.

"Princess? That's the best you've got?" he croaked with a disdainful snort.

The other man grunted. "I suppose you prefer Dirt Licker, or Pebble Pusher?"

Bakura's frown was pronounced. "I'd prefer my _name_ , actually," he demanded, though his voice wobbled with morning lethargy. His previous sleepless night had caught up to him with startling severity.

"Couldn't care less what you prefer," Ektor grumbled, walking away, having already lost interest. "Don't keep Marik waiting."

The last vestiges of his dream faded from his mind quickly, not that it mattered; every time he had the dream, he never got to see the end. Still, frustrated and exhausted, it took him a few minutes to get up from the bed he'd slept on. There were five cots stationed against the walls below deck; he'd been expressly told not to sleep in them, as they were reserved for specific people, but he'd obviously ignored the order. What did it matter, anyway? They had been empty all night.

He'd slept in the clothes he'd been given, since he only owned one outfit (having been mysteriously unable to find his old garments), and he didn't have much in the way of morning ablutions to tend to, aside from shaking out the weakness from his limbs; so, within five minutes he'd trudged his way topside for this so-called meeting.

Despite the fact he'd barely taken any time at all, Marik still had the gall to say, "What took you so long?"

Bakura squinted at him where he was stationed beside the mast. Everyone else was there as well: Bald Guy, whose name was Rishid if he remembered correctly, the girl, grumpy old man, navigator guy, and... the big one. The gathered crew were semi-circled around their captain, who had his arms crossed, impatient. So much so that he didn't even wait for an answer to his question; instead, he performed a wild hand gesture in Bakura's direction, his gaze sliding away before he continued, "As I was saying, we'll be arriving in Hāban within the hour, and it's important that everyone performs their duties exactly as instructed, or this whole meeting will be a waste. If we don't make this sale, it's back to eating rice cakes every day for a month again."

A chorus of murmurs and groans followed this pronouncement. Personally, Bakura found that a preferable option to their disgusting swamp food.

"Rishid will be taking care of the Tempest while everyone is gone." Marik placed a hand on the wood of the ship, giving it a friendly pat. "You three need to sell the bulk stock and get provisions enough for a longer trip. _Don't_ get into trouble with the locals again."

"Aye, aye," the navigator, Joto, said with a jaunty salute. The girl's eyes rolled toward the sky.

"As you may have noticed, there's a new member of the crew," the blonde continued, and everyone's gazes turned toward Bakura, who puffed up under their scrutiny despite being intimidated by it. "Our trip was a bit rushed for formal introductions, but this is Ryou, our resident serving boy." The girl, Anzu, offered him an awkward, half-hearted wave, Joto a grin and a wink, and everyone else hardly reacted at all. "He's here at my behest; so, he'll be shadowing me for this trip."

"Bit reckless to include the whelp at all," was the old man's input.

"Ektor's right," Bald Guy concurred. "Master Marik, could he not stay here? That would be far less trouble."

Marik raised an eyebrow, directing a pointed stare at the man. "There's no way he would stay put on this ship. Better to have him within arms reach than be forced to search the whole town."

"Is there... a purpose? To... keeping him at all?"

"You have some kind of objection?"

"No, not... particularly, no. Only, it's another mouth to feed, and he doesn't seem to have an—"

Bakura snorted. "If you're going to talk about me as if I'm not here, I might as well go back to bed."

Attention turned back to him instantly. Rishid retorted, "If you wish to keep him, I will gladly tie him to the mainsail."

Ektor gave a harsh chuckle. "Like to see that."

Horrified as he was by that pronouncement, before he could reply, Anzu interjected, "If Master Marik says he can deal with the kid, I trust him. That's enough for me."

"I'm not a _child_ ; I don't need a _babysitter_ ," Bakura protested in vain.

"No need to restrain him; if he's to be a useful addition at all, he'll need to actually be of use," Marik commented, sardonic.

"His attitude and work ethic are abysmal," the other one spoke up for the first time. Though his voice was calm and gentle, the words were infuriating to Bakura. The lout hadn't even properly met him until a few seconds ago! Bakura didn't even know the imbecile's name!

Anzu cautiously chimed in. "Not exactly the most friendly, no."

"Manageable," Marik dismissed their arguments as if they were merely pesky insects.

Rishid grimaced. "Yes, but tenable? No. Not at all." There was an edge to his tone, one that dissipated the previous light-hearted mood and placed tense expressions on the faces of all present. "The main point is that he _cannot_ be trusted. Master Marik, now more than ever your safety-"

"- is my concern, and no one else's," Marik insisted, stern. "I will do as I please. You can shout your complaints to the Four Winds for all I care."

Everyone was silenced by this pronouncement, the atmosphere grown further uncomfortable. Bakura looked around, surveying the others. Joto's face had turned red as if he were holding his breath, and a severe frown was growing by degrees on Rishid's face. Marik let the silence hang for a moment before he spoke again.

"You will do as I say," he warned, an impatient edge to his tone. "Or you will regret ever stepping foot on my ship. Is that clear?"

Anzu's murmured 'yes, Master Marik' was followed by other noises of acquiesce. Bakura looked on, as subdued as the others, not daring to make a sound.

Marik straightened. "Joto, take us into the harbor. I've still a few things to prepare before we reach the town." He walked through the center of their gathering, the semicircle just barely parting in time for his passing. His stride was so confident and precise that, if the others hadn't moved, he likely would have plowed right into them.

There was a strange energy to the proceedings after Marik had left them all. The crew returned to their posts, but Bakura was left with nothing to do, thus subjecting him to a myriad of suspicious glares. Uncomfortable, he decided to venture below deck, where Marik had just disappeared to.

Before he'd fully descended the ladder, he was waspishly addressed. "You aren't supposed to be down here."

Setting his feet on the lower deck, Bakura spotted the other boy sitting on one of the cots, digging through a small sack. The intensity he'd displayed a few minutes past appeared to have dissipated, and Marik was then more annoyed than stern. Wandering over, Bakura plopped himself onto a cot on the opposite side. "You never said it was forbidden."

"Not the-" A frustrated sigh. "Just go away."

"Oh, but I thought I was so _manageable_ ," Bakura countered, unable to curb the urge to mock. "If we're to spend so much _quality time_ together, surely you can _manage_ to stand my presence for more than two minutes."

Over the sound of the waves and the creaking of wood, Bakura felt as if he could hear Marik grinding his teeth together. At least, if the look on his face was any indication. Still, as satisfying as it was to annoy Marik, that wasn't actually his aim. Letting a pause settle between them, Bakura ventured, "What is it you're doing on this trip? You never actually said."

Marik abruptly stood, a length of twine clutched in his fist. He flung open the lid of a crate nearby, his back to Bakura. "If we're to set sail for the North, we'll need food and water enough for the trip there and back. And tools for any repairs that need to be made."

"Why? Is the ship damaged?"

"No, but it's likely it will be this time of year. Storms and the like."

Unsettled, Bakura remarked, "Aren't you Waterbenders, though? Can't you just…" He waggled his hands vaguely.

Marik turned on his heel to glare at him. "We don't control the weather any more than your kind can control an earthquake."

He could neither confirm nor deny; so, all he could offer was a shrug. The other boy went back to his rummaging, pulling a large, flat, translucent sheet of something from the crate and closing it up once more.

He raised his eyebrows. "What's that?"

"I didn't take you for the curious sort," Marik grumbled, kneeling on the ground and wrapping the object with fabric, his movements careful.

"You don't know the first thing about me," Bakura scoffed.

Rather than argue, the blonde merely hummed the barest of acknowledgments. His hands smoothed the fine linen as he wrapped it multiple times around the object. Since no further information was forthcoming…

"Let me guess... It's fake."

"No," Marik huffed with an accompanying glare.

"You're going to sell it, though."

A sigh. "Yes."

"Or, you know, at least you'll try to. Because you're a terrible merchant."

"I'm _what_?"

Bakura raised his eyebrows, innocent.

"How could a lackluster thief possibly know anything about that, anyway?" Marik retorted, disgruntled.

He didn't, but it was kind of interesting that the blonde seemed offended. "Since you can't possibly be making money with a scheme like this, I can only assume you pay your crew with... I don't know, wood chips? Rainwater? Seal blubber?"

"You actually try to be insulting, or do you come by your boorish charms naturally?"

"It's a subtle art," he quipped. "Don't give away my secrets to just anyone, you understand."

"Ah," Marik sarcastically remarked, hands snapping to his hips with dramatic flair. "A _pity_ they're so closely guarded."

A smirk bloomed on his face. "It's okay. Not everyone has what it takes to be truly great."

"Seeing as you haven't got anything else going for you, you may be right."

Ouch, that stung. Despite their previous interactions, Bakura hadn't expected Marik to be so sharp. Quick-witted conversation partners were few and far between where he was from; so much so, that he awkwardly did not respond in kind, leaving Marik to simply stare him down in tense challenge. Silence reigned for a heavy moment before Bakura dethroned it by clearing his throat.

"So, Hāban. What do you expect me to do there?"

Marik's arms relaxed, and he returned to wrapping his mysterious object. "We just had this conversation."

"No, we didn't," Bakura retorted, patient. "That whole chat you all just had at my expense? It was about how I couldn't be trusted. I want to know why."

"Exactly that," Marik said, peering at Bakura for a brief moment. "You can't be trusted."

He glared. "But... _what_ will you have me do? Exactly?"

The Water Tribe boy paused in his movements. "You're going to deliver something for me."

"Ugh," Bakura sighed, slumping his back against the wall. "Sounds dull."

"The package is fragile, and _expensive_ ; I expect it to arrive in one piece, delivered by your hand, and I expect you to return with my payment in full."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do your— Wait, _return_ with your payment? As in, you aren't going to be there?"

"No, I've other business to attend to," Marik replied, unconcerned. "What Rishid doesn't know won't hurt him."

•••

Hāban was less of a city, and more of a quaint seaside town. Home to what Bakura could only imagine were Fire Nation citizens — adorned in auburn sashes and golden hair clips bearing the nation's emblem — the area looked quite wealthy and prospering, despite its size. The harbor was well-kept, and a few friendly fishermen had aided in mooring the Tempest. He'd been directed to head west, up a hill and toward a place called Sun's Bluff, some distance further along the coastline. The scattered buildings along the way were neat, orderly, and people actually seemed happy to see him, waving as he passed. Bakura could only offer half-hearted grimaces in return, since he was delivering the most inconveniently shaped package in the known world.

Upon arriving at the dock, it seemed that the object Marik had previously been wrapping was also the object of Bakura's errand. The odd, glass-like sheet was only about three inches thick, but rectangular. Unfortunately, even the shortest side was longer than his arm; the package couldn't be tucked beneath his shoulder, and nor could it be dragged on the ground or slung on the back. (Marik was very clear on that point; it couldn't be bent or scraped in any way.) So, he found himself shuffling along, one edge of the package cradled in his hands and the opposite edge banging against his nose as he balanced it in front of him.

As if that wasn't annoying enough, he was being followed.

"What's that ya got there?" the inquisitive boy asked for the third time. He looked about six or seven years old, his hair combed and oiled immaculately, but dirt was caked on his knees, hands, and nose.

Bakura stared ahead in silence, hoping beyond hope that the kid would get bored and go away.

"Is yer name Ryou?"

He shot a sharp glare in the boy's direction. " _No_."

"How come them folks at the dock called you that, then?"

Considering the dock was a good twenty minutes behind them, it was disheartening to learn just how long he'd had to put up with the endless questions.

"How old are ya?"

Bakura's grip on the package tightened

"Say, are ya a boy or a girl?"

He grit his teeth.

"The fishermens gave me a beauty fish. Wanna see?"

He held up a lifeless catfish, beaming. Bakura took a step away from the boy, grimacing. "Look, kid, don't you have parents? Friends? Anything else to do?"

"Is that thing _reeeeeally_ heavy, or just a little bit heavy?" He pointed to the package with the hand that wasn't holding the fish.

"Anything at all? And what the hell is a beauty fish anyway?"

"Where's that scratch on your arm come from?"

The last thing he wanted to talk about was that scar; so, Bakura tried to find a distraction. "Oh look, there's a tree, go... I don't know, climb it? Fall out of it? Knock yourself unconscious? Die, perhaps?"

"Why's your hair white if you ain't an old man?"

"There's some sticks over there... you could... eh..." He frowned, no ideas forming. "... make a fire? Just... anything really?"

The boy made a wild gesture, putting his free hand straight in the air... and it was aflame. "I make fire all the time! See? See?! Hey, um, are you a Waterbender?" was the next question bleated at him. Bakura frowned at the clothes he was wearing; he really did look like he was Water Tribe, but that didn't ease his irritation any.

They passed a house where a young girl was chasing around a chubby fire ferret. " _Wow_! Look at that!" Bakura feigned deep interest, not caring how quickly his tone descended into sarcasm. "That sure looks like a fun thing to do! I _sure_ wish I could do that instead of carrying this _damned_ package up this _steep_ hill to meet some _stuffy_ merchant in a _stupid_ tent...!"

The boy, who had paused only for a moment to grimace at the girl, his tongue poking out distractedly, suddenly caught up to Bakura with renewed enthusiasm. "Flamin' Flowers! Are you goin' to see the festival?!"

Bakura slanted a look at his companion. "Festival?"

"Ya!" the kid screeched. "The Denglong Festival!"

"Um..."

They crested the top of the hill, and the path before them opened to their view a vast valley, upon which sat the most ornate and vivid display Bakura had ever seen. Bright red, spherical tents littered the area, decorated with billowed fabric draped in elegant arcs. Four... no, five in all, massive baubles were alight from the inside, shadows dancing like odd mirages on the walls. Buildings were festooned with strings of lanterns which mirrored the shape of the tents, and pillars of steam and smoke arose from the center of the bazaar.

Before them, hundreds of lit torches lined a long walkway leading up to the marketplace. It was filled with well-dressed people, and bright, colorful flashes of light. The sound of delighted laughter, booming cracks like thunder, and melodic song drifted to where they stood.

Bakura glanced at the boy beside him, intoning, "I assume that is what you're talking about?"

"I wanna go, I wanna gooo!" piped the boy. "Let's get flamey oats and see Master Otogi tell his stories from when he traveled to the _Spirit World_!" His pronouncement was followed by the flailing of his arms as he awkwardly attempted to look spooky.

"Pff, there's no such thing as spirits," Bakura muttered, though without much conviction.

The boy didn't appear to have heard him, chattering away. "One time, he met a river spirit who tried to drown him! And he filled her mouth with rocks so he could step on them to get across!"

Bakura frowned. "Wait... did you say Otogi? That's who I'm supposed to meet."

"Mother says Otogi ain't a master of anything, but I think she just don't like all them strange women and outsiders there."

"So... Turns out you do have a mother," Bakura sighed, shifting the package in his hands.

"'Course I have. Don't you?"

The question was posed innocently enough, but Bakura visibly winced. "Eh... yeah."

Thankfully, the kid was oblivious. "Mother is always going to the market. I like to see what fishes are there! Fishes are my favorite! But Mother, she likes to see the man who sells the fishes, though."

He was thoroughly done with the boy's incessant chatter. "Great. Now go somewhere else with your fish pals and leave me alone."

"Does your mother like a fish merchant?"

"What—?! No! My mother likes her _husband_ ; not to mention she hates fish! _And_ fish merchants, probably," he commented without thinking.

For a small moment, there was quiet. Then, "She... h-hates fish?" The boy's lip trembled.

Bakura felt a swoop of regret travel through his chest at the threat of tears, but, then, he realized the golden opportunity he'd stumbled into. His face split into a menacing grin. " _Yes_ , and you know what else? _I hate fish too_. They are ugly, vile creatures. I like to pluck their eyes out and skewer them on a sharp stick, leaving them to dry in the hot sun."

"No! Gross!" the boy shouted, clutching his fish to his chest and covering it's cloudy eye with a hand.

"I like to crush their bones beneath my feet!" He advanced a step toward the boy, predatory.

"Nooo!" The child was backing away, now, with wide, frightened eyes.

"I like to _split_ them open and throw their _innards_ back in the sea!"

The boy took off at a run, wailing, "I'm telling Mother!"

Bakura watched the kid's shape recede back the way they'd come, heaving a sigh of relief. "Finally," he muttered, hoisting the package more fully into his arms and making his way down the meandering path into the town.

When he eventually reached the tents, he saw that they rose above him to at least the height of six men together, possibly more. At the other end of the bazaar, a raised platform was erected, upon which performers danced to the cacophonous sound of twelve tsungi horn players. There was a fire acrobat who conjured rings of flame, passing in and out between them with dizzying speed. Various animals were on display; they were all dangerous and wild, gnawing at the bars of their cages and snarling at passers-by. Some men were taking bets on which creatures would win in a cage fight, while others merely observed their viciousness from a safe distance. On the other side of the lane, twittering women gathered around a shack labeled "See the Most Handsome Man in the World", and various others were engaged playing competitive games which were unfamiliar to him, seeing as they all involved firebending. Bakura's lip twisted as he passed all this by, but he continued on.

Trouble was, he wasn't entirely certain where he was going. True, he had a name and, now, a vague idea of the occupation of his target, but...? Bakura flinched back from an explosion of sparks that boomed beside him, close enough that his arm was littered with ash. Here and there, a flash of light, a dizzying display, a grotesque painted mask: he was beginning to lose his bearings entirely. The crush of people and sound was overwhelming; the vibe of a quiet fishing town was entirely lost amid the swirls of color and raucous entertainment. Had he passed this tent before? Hard to tell when he was forced to rush along with the tide of merry-makers. Several people bumped into him, jostling his fragile package and bruising his shoulders. One such person rudely careened into his back, nearly toppling him over.

" _Watch_ it," he growled, gritting his teeth and spinning around with a desperate snap. Whoever it was, they had continued on such that he could not spot them. Breathing quickly, he pressed forward, resolving to stick to the fringes of the crowd. As he tried to squeeze his way out of the middle, arms aching as they clutched his awkward package, a strong hand grabbed his tunic from behind.

He made a noise halfway between a snarl and a squeak of surprise, clutching the package tight as he was abruptly pulled back. A voice shouted in his ear: "STOP, THIEF!"

Bakura turned, eyes wide, expecting whoever had accosted him to realize their mistake and release him. Instead, his burden was wrenched from his hands. "H-hey—!" was all he could say before he was restrained by another set of hands.

"That's him alright; fits the description perfectly. And look what he's got!" Squeezing his left arm, the first person to grab him happened to be a woman with a painful amount of strength. The second was a man, and Bakura's right arm fared no better.

His wits returned to him suddenly. "What are you doing?! Let go of me!"

The man scoffed. "Shut your mouth, scum."

"Are you insane? I'm just on my way to deliver something!"

"Oh, really?" the woman replied, patronizing. "There are strict rules around here; we don't tolerate stealing."

"I haven't stolen anything!" Bakura erupted, jerking his arm in an attempt to free himself. Their grips tightened, twisting his shoulder. "A-augh! Get off me!"

The third person who'd accosted him, the one who had taken his package, stepped closer with a sneer. "Didn't steal nothin', eh? What would ye call _that_ , then?" He pointed to Bakura's chest.

Angry, confused, Bakura's first glance downward was a frantic flick of the eyes, but then his gaze was drawn and fixed. Hanging from his neck was a large piece of gold jewelry, unmistakably intricate and heavy. How had he not felt the weight of it before? Where had it come from?

Drawing in a shaky breath, he proclaimed, "That- That's not mine!"

"We're aware of that," the man beside him said.

"No—! I'm not a thief! I swear!"

"Well, you're certainly not a good one," was the retort he received as they carried him away, followed by a chorus of laughter from all sides.

•••

It was many hours before anyone came to get him, but, to him, it had felt like mere minutes.

The cell they'd tossed him in was below ground, a small alcove carved out of rock and clay. Dry dirt coated the backs of his legs as he sat in the corner, waiting. By his own estimation, he could have escaped his Earthen prison easily enough, but doing so would invariably reveal that he wasn't a Waterbender. He had no idea what Marik was thinking, but Bakura could see the wisdom in keeping some things hidden.

However, what had occupied his thoughts more than anything was the odd piece of jewelry that still, inexplicably, hung around his neck. When he'd been dumped here, no one had thought to take it from him. Now that he'd had longer to examine it, he could see that it consisted of a sturdy golden ring, held up by a flaxen cord. In the center of the ring was a triangular plate, upon which was the shape of an eye, except, in the places a normal eye would be white, it was midnight black. The lines which made up the eye extended downwards to fall off the edge of the triangle, much like a trail of tears, and, on the bottom edge of the ring were attached five spikes. They dangled from hinges, and were sharp enough to sting at the touch.

It was... fascinating; it far surpassed any other piece of finery he'd ever seen. The sheen of the surface was immaculate, mirroring his face and hair perfectly, aside from the distinctly golden hue. He clutched it in both hands, fingers wrapped delicately around the back, which was identical to the front.

So entranced was he that, when someone finally opened the door to his cell, it took him several seconds to register the intrusion. It was the woman from earlier. "Otogi will see you, now," she announced, swinging the door wide for him to come through. Without letting go of the necklace he was wearing, he complied, rising to his feet and following her.

They arrived at one of the tents; Bakura had no way of knowing which one it was. There was a guard at the door, who allowed them to pass through a small corridor. When they reached the end of it, the passage opened up to a wide, tall room where they were greeted by the bright light of thousands of paper lanterns and wooden beams, all arranged together to form an enormous glowing tree. As numerous as the leaves of a real tree, there were so many lights that the tent seemed as bright as mid-day. Despite Bakura's hazy state of mind, this still prompted a reaction.

"Oh," he murmured, eyebrows rising even as he had to squint his eyes to look at it.

"Do you like it?"

His gaze landed on the man who had asked the question. He was not much older than Bakura himself, wearing a black, form-fitting tunic and a plain red vest. His wild hair was barely contained by a small bun in the back of his head and a wide, diamond-patterned headband. Though his arms were bare and his demeanor poised, his bangs dangled in scraggly clumps, brushing the tops of his shoulders. The man sat like a king, legs dangling from the arm of his chair, which was raised on a high pedestal beside the tree.

However, most noticeable of all his features were his eyes: darkly lined, and piercingly direct. Even from that distance, Bakura could spot their mirthful gleam, and the man offered him a slanted grin. "Magnificent, isn't it? I'd wager you have never seen anything like it, have you?"

Feeling as if he were emerging from some sort of trance, Bakura blinked, frowning at the man. "Um, who are you?"

"Ryuji Otogi, at your service!" he stood and dipped himself into a full, dramatic bow in one fluid movement. "And you, small thief? What is your name?"

Anger burst through his haze in an instant. " _Small_ thief?!" he erupted. "Who the hell do you think—?"

The rest of his sentence died in his mouth before he could speak it, a wave of serenity and amusement flooding through him. It was enough to push his own anger completely to the side, and enough to throw him entirely off-kilter. In his stunned silence, Otogi piped up again.

"I am glad that you have... _reconsidered_ your words. I did not mean to offend, and I am truly sorry to have distressed you."

Though this was spoken quite sincerely, Bakura felt as if he could hear the man's laughter in his head. No, it wasn't just a feeling; he actually _was_ hearing it in his head. Clear and continuous, the laughter rumbled, the sound appearing to come from nowhere. Then, just as he lifted his eyes to Otogi, the feeling abruptly ended, all going silent in his mind. Narrowing his eyes, he observed the man before him, taking in his demure stance, his penitent expression...

"Are you mocking me?" he accused, suspicious.

Otogi's grin returned in an instant, even wider than before. "Quite the contrary: I think you're amazing."

Taken aback, he said nothing as Otogi sauntered to the side of the platform, descending with a small hop, landing beside it with a graceful thud. Straightening his knees, his attention returned to Bakura. "After all, not many could connect so thoroughly to the Sennen Ring in such a short amount of time."

"The... what?" Bakura muttered, staring at the man.

"That trinket, the one round your neck," Otogi explained, shoving his hands in his pockets as he advanced several steps toward Bakura. "Or have you forgotten why you're here?"

Reflexively, he drew his hand upwards, clutching the necklace. "I didn't steal it," he stated, firm.

Otogi looked him straight in the eye, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth. "... I know."

He sputtered. "You— Well, if you _know_ already, then let me leave!"

"After going through all this trouble to get you here? That would be foolish, don't you think?"

"You can't keep me here," Bakura announced, straightening his posture. "There are people expecting me."

"Do you mean Marik's merry little crew?" Otogi grinned, those eyes of his flashing. "Oh, not to worry... I know all about them."

Bakura frowned. "You know Marik?"

"Of course I do," he replied, waving a hand. "I am the recipient of that package you were delivering, after all."

Oh. Right. He'd... sort of forgotten about that, in all the commotion. "Then you must know he'll be looking for me."

Otogi's laugh was exactly as Bakura had heard it in his head: swelling like thunder, and melodic as a song. "Funny that you'd have such faith in him, considering why he sent you here."

Bakura's resolve wavered. "And... why is that?" he demanded, trying not to show his desperation for that answer.

"It hardly matters now," the man replied, his meandering gait carrying him ever closer. "Tell me, why is it that you are traveling with a band of outcasts and rebels? Do you not have any better company to keep?"

"Outcasts?" he echoed with a frown.

"Oh, yes," Otogi divulged. "Even Marik himself is cut adrift. And yet, you would add yourself to their number?"

He wasn't sure why, but it felt as if the answer was dragged from his lungs. "I need... to find my parents."

Breathing deeply after that pronouncement, Bakura weathered the tightness in his chest. He'd never spoken the words aloud, not when his sisters had questioned him, not when his aunt had confronted him, and not when he'd finally left home with little hope of returning.

"Oooh..." the man before him sighed, his pace slowing. "They are lost?"

"Yes," Bakura whispered, his pained stare directed at the ground.

Otogi regarded him quietly, his mirth absent in that moment. "I know how that feels."

He looked up quickly. "You do?"

"I am an orphan, myself," was the reply. "Hard, isn't it? To feel as if you are completely on your own."

"Yes..." He shifted his weight, listless. "It is."

Otogi's smile was benevolent; completely unlike the mischievous grins he'd displayed before. "Tell you what; you can keep it."

When Bakura's confusion was evident, the man continued, "The Sennen Ring. It has served me well in life; helped to bring me the wealth and prosperity I never had as a child. And now, you are welcome to that same blessing."

Bakura lifted the necklace, peering down at it with a furrowed brow. "This thing can do all that?"

"Not directly, per se," Otogi admitted. "But the Sennen Ring is an ancient artefact, gifted to humans by a powerful spirit many millenia ago." Then, in conspiratorial tones, he added: "It allows you to hear the thoughts and feelings of others as if they were your own."

He scoffed, "You expect me to believe that?"

The other man lifted his eyebrows, his gaze direct and piercing. "Try it."

Bakura let out a puff of air, irritated. "And how am I supposed—?" The feeling slammed into him full-force, and he staggered beneath the weight of it. Resolve, confidence, vindication... A tinge of sadness around the edges; a resigned echo drowned out by the force of his calculated arrogance. He had the acute sense that Otogi liked to be right, and that he found Bakura's confusion endearing. But no, confusion was an understatement: it was hard to tell where Otogi's feelings ended and his own began. Though he knew, intellectually, that the emotions were foreign, they were also... familiar.

"Stop... it..." he panted, taking a step back.

Otogi tilted his head minutely. "I'm not doing anything." That grin was back. A rush of victory and amusement flooded Bakura's mind.

In a desperate move, Bakura clawed at the necklace around his neck. To his dismay, it didn't budge an inch, but, by chance, his fingers covered the eye in the very center, and the noise in his mind quieted. He drew in a shaky breath, staring at the ground to recover.

Otogi's boots came into view; Bakura's gaze snapped upward to find that the man was now only a few feet away. "Do you see now? The Sennen Ring... It is a powerful tool in the right hands."

"Seems more annoying than useful."

"Annoying? To know the minds of those around you?" the man pointed out. "To manipulate based on secret knowledge that only you have? I would think that with a quest like yours, you would take any advantage given to you."

"If that's what you think, why give it away?" Bakura asked, cautious, hand still covering the eye with a tight grip.

"Truth be told," Otogi smirked. "It was meant to be Marik's payment. But you? You're resourceful, aren't you? Quick thinking, zealous... Don't you think you deserve a gift like this more than Marik does?"

"Yes," Bakura answered at once.

"Well then?" The man took his hands from his pockets, gesturing grandly. "Take it! May it aid you on your quest to find what is most precious to you."

Feeling oddly empowered by that statement, Bakura found himself saying, "Erm... Thank you. But, won't Marik be expecting..."

"... something in return?" Otogi finished for him. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Tell him— He will find what he's looking for in Bei'Ai. Will you deliver that message for me?"

Cryptic, to be sure, but Bakura nodded. "I will."

The other man smiled wide, turning with a quick click of his fingers. "Before our guest leaves, let him experience the fruit of his labors, hm?"

Unsure exactly what he meant by that, Bakura looked in the direction he was speaking, and found a few workers hoisting the sheet of glass he'd delivered into the very center of the lantern tree. He'd only ever looked at it in the dim light below deck on Marik's ship, but now... the thousands of lights surrounding it passed through the glass, refracting endlessly. The plate glowed with a vast spectrum of color, and vibrant sprays of light were spread all around the tent.

He looked back to Otogi in awe, and the man's face was dappled with rainbow-colored light as he grinned endlessly at the display. With a triumphant laugh, Otogi pointed to the exit. "Go now, Bakura! Face the world with your new prize! Your sea-faring comrades await your return!"

Bakura left quickly, glad to be free of the other man's manic energy. It was only after he'd traversed the length of the carnival, trudged back down the path to the shore, and spotted the silhouette of Marik's ship in the early evening haze, that he realized— he had never actually told Otogi his name.


End file.
